Scar Tissue
by Shadowlass
Summary: Wes finds Faith in desperate circumstances ... but estranged from his friends, he's pretty desperate himself. Set post"Forgiving." COMPLETE
1. One

Chapter One

Angel cradled the baby closer to his chest, hunching over him protectively. They'd gotten him back. It had taken threats and sacrifices and the darkest of magic, and Angel had crossed lines he hadn't even before the Gypsies had ensouled him. But it had all been worth it.

Connor was home.

Angel's eyes searched the baby's face, finding every minute difference in the unlined baby-fat—a faint scratch on his forehead, a slight plumping of the pink cheeks.

The changes were superficial. It was his son.

"Connor," Angel marveled softly. Raising the infant to his shulder, he buried his face in the velvety-soft babyflesh, inhaling the tender scent of innocence.

Cordelia forced herself to wait, to give Angel this moment alone with Connor. She desperately longed to touch the baby, reassure herself that he was real and safe and back. But Angel was his father, and the moment belonged to father and son.

She watched as he nuzzled the little fold of a neck, marveling at the tenderness he'd shown, always, to Connor. It was as if he'd always been a father, not a bloodsucking fiend.

But she could only wait for so long, and this was it. "My turn," she burst out eagerly, moving beside Angel and holding out her arms. Angel just shook his head, face still buried against the Connor's neck.

"Angel, you've had him long enou—"

"_Mine!"_ Angel hissed, and Cordelia jumped back in horror as she saw the blood running down his chin. She stood there stupidly, unable to move, unable to process the horrible scene.

Then Fred screamed and the shrill sound broke Cordy's paralysis. She lunged forward to grab the infant from Angel, grappling with him for the tiny body. Angel's attention faltered for a moment as he saw Gunn charge at him with an axe, and Cordy managed to pull the baby away.

But it was too late. His body was limp in her hands, his big innocent eyes fixed and blank—

Wesley jerked awake, reaching over to turn on the lamp beside the couch. He was shaking, although that seemed silly; by now he would have thought he was used to the dreams. They were different every night, but really just variations on a theme. They were all gruesome, all hopeless. All lies.

The prophecy was a fake.

Wes reached up and touched his throat unconsciously. It felt, sometimes, as if there were still a knife slicing into him, instead of merely a scar marking him. No, not scar; wound. It wouldn't be a scar until it healed. Sometimes he felt like it never would.

Angel would never forgive him. Wesley knew that, but then he'd known it from the start. If he'd thought Angel would ever understand what he had to do, he would have explained it to him instead of just secreting the baby away. But saving Connor was more important than hoping Angel understood.

And now Connor was gone, lost in a hell dimension and in the care of a vengeful fanatic. And Wes, however inadvertantly, had delivered the baby into his hands. Sometimes the knowledge was like a weight pressing down on his chest until he could barely breath. He'd struggle and gasp for breath, then wonder if he should struggle at all.

_At least Angel has his friends to console him_, Wes thought, unable to repress his bitterness at the desertion of his friends.

Wes forced his breathing to return to normal. Perhaps he would pay Lilah a visit tomorrow. Not to fall into place as she thought he would, not by any means, but he could no longer afford to ignore Wolfram & Hart. He'd been in purgatory too long.

It was time he found his own little circle of hell.

For an evil law firm that undoubtedly made shocking sums of money, the bowels of Wolfram & Hart were disarmingly ordinary. The hallways and storage areas and file rooms were nondescript; it was like any office building in the city, tedious, functional, designed with an eye towards economy.

_What did you expect?_ Wes thought mockingly. _Gilt pagan altars, and hallways runnning with blood?_

Well, perhaps not. But he was somewhat disappointed that the fabled security system was so lax that a simple glamor allowed him access to the building.

Perhaps that was something he could change. Yes, there was no saying that he had to remain a researcher for the rest of his life. It was a different life. He was a different man.

Lilah didn't know he was there. A carefully choreographed Potemkin of a tour wouldn't have shown him what he wanted to see—the truth. But all he saw were functionaries, hurrying along with folders, with parcels, with memos, chattering into cell phones. Nothing very shocking. Even hell had its gofers, apparently.

Somehow, the mundanity of it all made it less seductive. His momentary impulse towards the company faded; its surface glamour and vigor was an illusion. It wasn't who he was. Not before, and not now.

And then a door opened, and he saw her.

Wes slipped around the corner before she noticed him. Despite the glamor that disguised his appearance, he couldn't escape the feeling that she would know him if she saw him.

Sometimes he thought Lilah knew everything.

That was absurd, of course. She was highly conversant about evil and its many benefits, but there was more to the world than that.

Lilah didn't even glance in his direction. "Zimmerman, get her other arm," she barked to someone out of Wesley's sight. "_Now!"_

There was a struggle, and he could hear raised voices inside the room from which Lilah had emerged. "What are you waiting for?" demanded Lilah. "Give her the shot, now!"

Then she leapt back as a dark-haired woman lunged out of room and tried to grab her arm. She was mad, desperate, wild-eyed.

_Faith.___

Wes lost his breath for a moment. This was a dream, surely. It couldn't be happening. Faith was in prison up north—she'd tortured him, surely the Council would alert him if she was released—

The thought died as soon as it formed. Of course the Council wouldn't contact him. The Council preferred to pretend he'd never existed, much less served as Watcher. If it knew Faith was out of prison, it would have given her a map to his home and let her take care of him before exterminating her once and for all. Two of the Council's greatest embarrassments, conveniently wiped out.

A half-dozen men in white uniforms poured out of the room after Faith, swarming her as if she were a side of beef and it was feeding time in the lions' cage. After a moment one of the men stepped back, holding up an empty syringe. Within a minute or two the girl's struggles had died down, and her limp body was carried back into the room by Lilah's flunkies. Faith was no longer a threat.

Wes didn't listen as Lilah berated the medic to kept Faith sedated and under control. If he joined Wolfram & Hart, he would have access to all its secrets. Access to Faith. He could have his revenge on her for what she'd done to him, if he wished.

Years before, he hadn't been strong enough to handle her.

But now, things had changed.

The doctor was late.

Faith wasn't really sure how she knew he was late; there wasn't a clock, and she hadn't seen the daylight in … it seemed like forever, but she had no idea. Weeks? Months? Her thinking wasn't very clear, and her head was beginning to throb. The doctor usually came when her head began to throb.

Then he was there, leaning over her, and Faith felt an instinctive relief. Finally! If he hadn't come soon, she would have had to struggle. Struggling was hard. Floating was easy.

But instead of giving her a shot the doctor hauled her to her feet. "Come on now, quickly. Move."

_More tests?_ she wondered groggily. They'd stopped the tests weeks ago. Or days ago. They'd learned everything there was to know about her. She used to be a Slayer, and now she was nothing.

"No shot?" she asked blearily.

"Not yet," he replied.

In some distant part of her mind Faith was aware that he was not the doctor. She tried to focus on his face, but he looked fuzzy and imprecise—like an image out of a memory, or a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. "Later?" she asked.

"Yes, Faith. Later," Wes said quietly.

Faith awoke with a start. She felt uncomfortable, like something had been done to her while she was asleep. The feeling wasn't new. But when she tried to rub her eyes, her arms could barely move. And then she heard the chains rattle.

_Oh, shit._

Chains? What, was this some kind of punishment? Because of the day before, when she attacked Lilah or whatever her name was, that sleazy Yuppie robot who'd tried to get her to kill Angel a couple of years before?

"Okay, fun's over," she called. "Time to get me out of here!"

Then the door opened, and her Watcher was looking down at her. Same as he'd always done.

"Wes?" she said in surprise. "…What happening?"

Wesley stared at her, his face unreadable. "Don't you remember last night?"

What? What did he mean, _remember last night?_ That sounded … no way! She caught a glimpse of the room behind him through the open doorway and realized she was no longer at Wolfram & Hart. It looked like somebody's home.

Wesley's?

She gave the chains an experimental tug and found to her increasing apprehension that they didn't give. "Chains, Wes? Not really like you."

"You don't know me," said Wes curtly. "Nobody does anymore."

A knot began to form in Faith's stomach. Somehow the closed-off, remote look on Wes's face worried her more than those creeps at Wolfram & Hart. Quietly—so quietly it didn't make a sound—she began to increase the pressure on the chains. Wes never knew anything, not when he was her Watcher and not now. He thought he could keep her there? He was wrong.

"You with the lawyers?" she asked. That woman had made it very plain who was holding her, and why—she was going to be their secret weapon. Their very own private Slayer, who'd do whatever they wanted. "What, Angel dump you? Guess he got sick of you sending him those moon-eyed glances," she mocked.

His mouth tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, sure I don't," she taunted. "Remember way back when, Wes? That time in the library when no one was around, and I sat in your lap? I wiggled around like a bowl of jello, and it didn't do a thing for you. And if I don't do it, nobody can. No woman, anyway," she added spitefully.

Wesley flushed. Yes, he remembered the incident clearly. He doubted he'd ever forget it.

"Any red-blooded man would have had my jeans off in about two seconds, but not you, huh Wes? Just shoved me off your lap like you were afraid I'd give you the clap."

"You probably would have," he said indifferently, and briefly enjoyed the look of rage on her face. Despite what she told herself, she was almost pathetically näive; he'd shoved her off his lap because he didn't want her to feel his arousal. Unlike her, he'd known what the Watcher-Slayer relationship should be, and it wasn't what she taunted him with—although he'd known keenly, even then, that she wouldn't have gone through with it even if he'd responded. She been mocking him, as she always did. As they all had, always.

Now she was before him, in chains.

"No, Faith, I'm not with Wolfram & Hart," he finally said, his voice rough. "And I'm not with Angel anymore either," he added before she could open her mouth. "And I'm not going to keep you here."

He leaned forward and unlocked her wrists, then stepped back before Faith could rise. She staggered to her feet, her coordination a little rocky after being chained for so many hours, and rubbed the imprints the cuffs had left on her wrists. The marks were faint, but she never would have thought Wes would be the one to put them there.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" she asked, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this was _Wes._

Wes shrugged. "I never planned to bring you here," he said simply. "But you were too heavily drugged to be left on your own. Wolfram & Hart would have found you, or perhaps a passing demon, and my little rescue would have been for nothing. And I'm quite sick of doing things for nothing."

Faith scowled. "So you just thought you'd tie me up?"

"It seemed fair," observed Wes.

"_Fair?_ What the hell did I—" she broke off, recalling when she'd had Wes tied up and at her mercy. Yeah, _mercy_.

"Forgive me, but I was somewhat concerned about what might happen if you awoke before me. Considering the last time we met, it seemed best."

Faith felt resentment, sharp and familiar, stab her. He was wrong, dammit. The last time he'd seen her, she'd turned herself in to the police and allowed herself to be taken to prison. And she'd stayed there. The bars hadn't kept her in, and neither had the guards.

_She_ had.

"What makes you think it's safe to let me go now?" she challenged.

Wes raised his hand for a moment, and allowed Faith to see the pistol he held.

"What the hell's happened to you, Wes?" she demanded in growing disbelief. Christ, he was giving her whiplash! Getting her out of Wolfram & Hart, then chaining her up, and now pulling a gun on her? It was like she was in the bizarro world or something.

She'd never admit it, but the bleakness in his expression frightened her a little. She never would have believed Wes could frighten her. Hell, she wouldn't have believed Wes could frighten a Girl Scout.

"I was reborn, Faith," he told her, opening the door and gesturing towards the hallway. Telling her without words that he wanted her gone, just like everybody else did. Then he pointed to his throat, and for the first time Faith noticed the angry red line bisecting it. "Didn't you see my birthmark?"


	2. Two

Chapter Two

Faith knew where Angel lived. He'd sent her a few letters in a fancy girly handwriting, and she'd memorized the return address. Angel Investigations, in the Hyperion Hotel.

Of course, he hadn't sent a letter in a while. Kind of a long time, actually. And he hadn't visited her in a year or two, either. She'd started to wonder if something bad happened to him—if he'd finally taken on something he couldn't beat—but when they were keeping her at Wolfram & Hart she'd heard that woman say that Angel wouldn't stand a chance against Faith once they were finished with her. So he was still around, at least.

_Buffy!_ Yeah, that was it. She'd gotten to him—made him stay away from Faith. Maybe they'd found a way around the soul deal, and she was with him right now, in the hotel.

Faith bit back a groan. Looked like she'd find out.

Wes stirred in his sleep. Something was poking him in the side. The couch really wasn't the best place to sleep, but his sleep hadn't been good lately anyway. He dropped off like a stone, fought through nightmares, then awoke in the morning with no sense of having rested. It was as if he'd merely closed his eyes, and waited out the night.

Wes pressed his eyelids together, trying to hold onto sleep. It was unsatisfying and often disturbing, but it was still preferable to being awake, when his mind ricocheted ceaselessly from translating the text to taking the baby, from feeling Justine's blade slice into his throat to Angel's hands squeeze around his neck, and finally to Fred telling him the prophecy was fake. He'd thought about it so often the sequence was burned into his mind, a permanent imprint on his brainwaves.

Finally Wesley gave up. The attempts were useless. Sleep was gone for the night.

He opened his eyes, and there was Faith, sprawled out in the chair opposite, watching him.

For some reason he was unsurprised.

"Did you talk to Angel? Find out the whole ugly story?" Faith nodded, and Wesley pulled himself upright. "Come to finish me off? I haven't got a gun now, so feel free."

Faith stared at him. "Why'd you do it, Wes?"

Wes's mouth twisted. "Didn't they tell you? I was in league with Angel's archenemy. I gave him Angel's son. Then I slit my own throat, apparently, or something like that—I'm not sure how they worked out the particulars."

Faith scowled. "That's what the stick said. Her and the big dude. Angel just spaced out and shrugged. He didn't even ask how I got out of Stockton."

"They have other things on their minds," Wes said after a moment.

Yeah, she could see that. But she wasn't welcome at the hotel—that was plain. Story of her life. Cordelia acted like she had her old prom queen crown up her ass, and the rest of them had looked at her like she was bad news.

And Buffy wasn't even around to tell them what to think. Angel had forgotten about Faith all by himself.

Faith hated herself for feeling hurt. She was used to it by now, wasn't she? It wasn't like Angel owed her anything.

Still made her feel like crap.He opHe

"You're a smug little tightass, but giving the baby to that guy didn't make sense. I mean, it's just stupid. How would that help the baby? Besides, if you're so evil, why would you get me out of Wolfram & Hart?"

Wesley didn't answer. The thought that someone thought better of him than his friends—the people he'd done everything for—the woman he loved—the thought that _Faith _trusted him more—god, that was rich. Any more and he'd vomit.

"So why did you?" prodded Faith.

No one had asked him that. Not once. Not _once._ "I thought the prophecy was real."

"I mean, why'd you get me out of Wolfram & Hart?"

Wes was silent for a moment. "I was your Watcher, Faith," he said finally. "I failed you."

He was apologizing? To her? God, she had to be dreaming. Maybe she was back a coma. "I wasn't Buffy," she mumbled.

"No, you were Faith. Buffy had a Watcher, even if the council didn't recognize him. You were my charge."

"You've been feeling bad about that all this time, Wes? Even after I…."

Wes closed his eyes. "I wanted to have one less thing to feel guilty about."

Faith didn't respond. He had to know how she felt—she'd turned herself in, right? She wouldn't have done it if she hadn't wanted to fix things.

Wes didn't seem inclined to say anything else. Fine with her. "Mind if I crash here tonight?" she asked, stretching her arms out to indicate her tiredness.

Wes was surprised. He would have thought she wanted to go drinking, or dancing, or find a likely-looking specimen and go home with him. "Oh … of course," he agreed lamely.

"Great," she said casually, as if it weren't a big deal. As if she had somewhere else to go. "Being poked and prodded in a lab can take it out of you."

"Yes, I rather imagine so," said Wesley awkwardly. A few weeks before, the thought of welcoming Faith into his home would have astonished him.

Now she was the closest thing he had to a friend.

Faith slept on the couch.

Although Wes knew it would have been courteous to offer her the bed, it would have felt inappropriate, somehow. Intimate. As if he expected something in exchange for allowing her to stay there.

She stayed the next day, and the next, and the one after that. He didn't ask her when she intended to leave, and she didn't mention it, and finally he realized that she wasn't really planning to leave.

_She's a lone wolf, too_, he thought. The overly dramatic description gave him pause for a moment. It wasn't really possible for there to be two lone wolves together, was it?

For that matter, he didn't think either of them were loners. They'd both done things wrong, terribly wrong, and they'd both been hurt, and they were both alone, but it wasn't by choice. They were exiles.

He found himself surprisingly at ease in Faith's company, but Faith had been wrong. He had indeed been affected back in Sunnydale when she'd taunted him with something that she'd never let him have, no matter how suggestively she writhed on his lap. He'd been a miserable prig, but even then he'd known that she was merely mocking him, exercising her magnificent animal sexuality. If he'd tried to touch him she'd have slapped him down and laughed in his face.

But he hadn't wanted to push her away at all. He'd had to fight against the impulse to close his hands around her hips and grind his arousal against her. He'd shoved her off his lap hastily so she couldn't tell just how affected he was. And now, although she was quite circumspect—at least, as circumspect as he expected Faith could ever be—he was reacting in much the same way.

They seldom left the apartment during the day. Wesley was somewhat concerned about Wolfram & Hart locating Faith, but Faith wasn't worried; they were on her radar now. She could take care of them.

But she seemed content with their nocturnal routine. She was a creature of the night. It suited her.

At night they did what both knew best and hunted demons. Usually. Sometimes they just stayed home He didn't attempt to direct her in her slaying, and she didn't taunt him. It was a peaceful partnership.

Sometimes they sparred, and she was surprised by how different he was from the stiff, nagging tightass he'd been in Sunnydale who thought he knew so much more than anyone else.

They lived in a dream state. Once she asked him about Buffy, and he told Faith she had died the previous spring, but had been resurrected. Faith was silent the rest of the afternoon, but came to him later, forehead creased, and asked him if she was still the Slayer.

"What? Why wouldn't you be?" he asked in surprise.

"When Buffy died the first time, Kendra was called. Then when Kendra died I was called. Has someone else been called now? Are there three of us?"

Wesley was ashamed to realize he didn't know the answer. "If there is, Faith, it doesn't affect you," he told her. "It has nothing to do with who you are or what you do."

She didn't protest, but her face still looked troubled.

She'd been there less than two weeks when their comfortable little relationship began to change.

A sharp, entitled rap on Wesley's door surprised Faith so much at first she didn't realize what the sound was. The whole time she'd been there nobody had been by, not even a Mormon or whoever the hell it was who went door to door.

But when she looked over at Wes, he didn't look so surprised.

"I think it would be best if you got out of sight," he murmured.

Faith narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger to his lips and nodded towards the door. With a scowl she slunk into the same closet he'd chained her in not long before. _Home away from home_, she thought bitterly.

Wes opened the door without bothering to ask who it was. He didn't have to. There was only one person who came to see him these days. "Hello, Lilah."


	3. Three

Lilah stayed longer than usual. It wasn't really all that long for what they were doing, but it wasn't like they had much to talk about. A little repartee, a veiled suggestion that Wolfram & Hart was his only option, and then right down to the fucking.

It was an ugly word, but Wes thought it suited. There was nothing tender or comforting about it. He thought, wistfully, of Virginia, and wondered how it was they had drifted apart.

He refused to think of Fred.

Lilah pressed a goodbye kiss to his cheek and tapped his jaw. "Don't forget about me," she reminded him with the coyness she had displayed surprisingly often of late.

"Never," he assured her with no sincerity at all.

As he turned from shutting Lilah out, he wasn't surprised to see Faith standing there. It couldn't have been fun, listening to him and Lilah.

Couldn't have been helped, though.

"What the hell was that about?" Faith spat, her whole face red.

"Business as usual," Wesley said with a shrug.

"Business as usual is sleeping with Reptilica?" demanded Faith in disbelief. She would have given hundred to one odds that Wes hadn't gotten laid in … _ever_, and it turned out he was tagging Viper Woman? Unreal!

And it sounded like he knew _exactly_ what he was doing, a little voice inside her said. She ignored it. Her little voice was, and always had been, full of shit. "I thought you said you told her no way?!"

"I said I rejected her invitation to join Wolfram & Hart. I didn't say I rejected everything," Wes returned evenly.

Wes had taken Lilah into the bedroom so the sound had been muffled, but Faith had heard it clear enough. She'd been furious to find herself becoming aroused as she crouched in the dank little closet, nipples hardening even as she'd sworn under her breath. Yeah, Wesley was out there getting some while she was trapped in a closet—she couldn't even get herself off for fear she might make too much noise and Lilah would find her while she was preoccupied.

Yeah, it would have sucked all right, just not in a good way.

"Jeez, Wes, if you were so desperate, why didn't you tell me? I haven't had any touch in awhile, we could have scratched each other's itches," she jeered, dropping down onto the couch and sprawling suggestively. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but she felt irritation riding her like a Hell's Angel just out on parole. "Come on, what's she got that I haven't got?"

"Faith—"

"You know, I think I'd be more careful if I were you," she continued, toying with the button on her jeans. She did it casually, as if she didn't know it riveted his attention to the spot. "I mean, you don't know _where _she's been."

Then suddenly Wes was leaning over her, his face inches from hers, pushing his hand between her legs. "Is this better, Faith?" he asked curtly, massaging her roughly through her jeans. "I wouldn't want you to feel neglected."

Faith's jaw dropped in shock. She couldn't believe he was touching her like this—Wes—"God," she muttered, her eyes drifting shut. She wasn't wearing panties, and the denim rubbed against her tender skin like it was the nasty stubble on his face. Almost. _Almost_—

Wes began to pull back, feeling angry and guilty and resentful. What kind of a man was he? What kind of a person would—

"Don't stop," Faith said gutturally, grabbing his wrist and pressing his hand against her again. His eyes flared in surprise, and she thought he was going to pull away.

But he didn't. Instead he continuing moving his hand, making her gasp.

Without warning she grabbed his hand, directing his movements, then came with a shriek. It hadn't taken much, she thought, dazed.

And it had taken _Wes._

He disappeared into the bedroom and locked the door behind him. She probably imagined he was in there masturbating—which was, admittedly, true—but mostly he was upset. No, not upset: Angry. Unreasonably, almost unbearably angry.

When he came out of the bedroom, she was gone.

Faith didn't return that night, or the one after that. Wesley was tempted to go after her, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to find her until she wanted him to. She was experienced at hiding.

After a few days he resumed their routine of patrolling, only it was now a patrol of one. It seemed odd, but he thought he had to do something. It felt empty and pointless, but he persevered.

He hadn't had much luck when she surprised him.

"I guess now I have my answer," she said behind him. Wes swung around and there was Lilah, shaking her head as if disappointed.

"What answer?"

"About how far gone you are. You wouldn't have let her go if some little part of you wasn't still suffering from a good-guy complex. It's a pity, really. You had potential, but then _pow_, you let her go. I've got to say, I'm disappointed in you."

"You knew?" asked Wes in surprise. "Knew I took her?"

"Of course I knew," she told him with malicious pleasure. "I arranged it."

"You went to all that trouble … for what? Why would you do such a thing, there was no benefit to you," he protested.

Lilah looked amused. Business as usual, Wes thought, feeling queasy. "Of course there was a benefit—it gave me an answer. If you killed her, or tortured her, or made her your plaything, I knew you were ready for Wolfram & Hart. And if it didn't work, there was a Slayer out there, aligned with you. And in case you missed it, you're in opposition to Angel. Face it, Wes," she added, "it was a win-win situation … as long as you're me."

"You were toying with me," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Lilah burst out laughing. "Come on, Wes—evil, remember? And surprise, surprise, she left you—just like the rest of them."

"She didn't leave, I let her go," Wesley mumbled.

"Sure, tiger—and now you're in the exact same spot you were a few weeks ago. All alone, just your books to keep you company—"

"Don't you _ever_ get tired of hearing yourself talk?" Faith asked from the mouth of the alley.

Lilah started slightly. If Wes hadn't been so surprised by Faith's sudden appearance, he might have been amused. It felt good to get a little back at Lilah. Very little, considering how thoroughly she'd played him, but he'd take his petty pleasures where he could.

Faith didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on Lilah as she stalked towards her. "Hey, remember what I did to your friend's head with a table? I'm actually a lot more pissed at you right now, so imagine what I could do to _your_ head with a brick wall."

Lilah darted a look to Wes, as if to evaluate the likelihood of his protecting her against Faith. She didn't move to him, so apparently she found him lacking, thought Wes with a tinge of amusement. "I can have my men here in seconds," she warned Faith, her voice trembling slightly.

Faith laughed. "Not before I—"

"Let her go," cut in Wes. Faith sent him an angry, disbelieving look, but didn't continue. He nodded to Lilah and she hastened out of the alley, carefully avoiding meeting Faith's eyes.

It didn't matter. Faith wasn't looking at her. She hadn't taken her burning gaze off Wesley.

For a few moments they listened to the click of Lilah's heels grow fainter, and then Faith could wait no more. "Now you're protecting her?" Faith demanded.

"I'm protecting _you_," he snapped. "You turned yourself into the police for a reason, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Do you want to throw all that away?"

Faith was silent for a moment. Lilah shouldn't count, should she? She was the scum of the earth, even if she was human. She couldn't count, no way.

But Faith kind of had the feeling that thinking those things wouldn't lead her anyplace good. "No," she said reluctantly.

"I don't want you to either," said Wes softly.

Faith glanced away. It had been so long since anybody been like that with her—_ever_, she corrected herself. It was the first time some one had _ever _been like that with her. Angel—Angel had been saving his soul when he took care of her. Wes didn't owe her anything; she owed him, and she didn't think there was any way to make it right.

Maybe she didn't even want to. This way, there was a connection between them. It may not have been nice, or pretty, but it was real.

"So what now?" she asked, trying desperately not to sound like she cared.

He shrugged. "Now I go home."

He thought there might have been a flash of hurt across her face, but she covered it quickly. She had practice, after all. "Are you coming?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but passed her and started down the street. A moment later she fell in beside him. She didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

tbc


	4. Four

Chapter Four

"So, what are we doing?"

Wesley looked up from his book in surprise. It seemed unlike Faith to ask for guidance or reassurance or anything, really, other than the occasional pizza night. Or ungodly expensive pairs of leather pants. "Well, I'm researching the feeding habits of the Muraugiam, and you're flattening the punching bag. Or am I missing something?"

"I mean, why are we hanging around L.A.?"

Wes frowned. Faith had never expressed displeasure with their arrangement, such as it was. They both seemed content to vegetate in comparative peace. _Was__ a few weeks of that enough for her? Was she going to leave? _he wondered, anxiety beginning to bloom.

"You're unhappy?" he asked carefully.

Faith shrugged and flopped down on a chair. "Couch's soft, food's good, plenty of demons to kill. Nothing to complain about."

"Then—"

"Except for the little thing about how this city's already got a big-time demon hunter, and we have to be real careful to avoid him, because he might go off and try to kill you again and that might be kind of, you know, awkward. Besides, if he killed you, where would I stay?"

He looked hurt.. Faith rolled her eyes—he was such a girl sometimes. A hot, scruffy girl.

Okay, maybe not a girl.

"I was _kidding_, Wes," she said, not very impatiently.

He was silent for a long moment. "Faith? Have you ever wanted to make reparation?"

"Reparation? What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"To right our misdeeds. Maybe it's impossible to truly make things right, but I don't like to believe that. It's what separates us from the animals."

She frowned. "I thought that was our thumbs."

Wes scowled. "That's entirely—well yes, that's the other difference," he conceded.

"Wes, it's been straight with us ever since you got me out of Wolfram & Hart," she told him. To her surprise he looked puzzled.Oh. _Duh._ "You don't mean me."

Wes stared down at his hands. He could never make things right with Angel, never expiate what he'd done. And yet it preyed on him always, there at the back of his mind. Sometimes it was barely above the point of consciousness.

Sometimes it was all he could think about.

"You sought your redemption, Faith, when you went to prison. You turned yourself in. And I—I don't feel free to leave. Not until I've achieved a kind of redemption, too."

"So what does redemption take?" she asked after a moment.

He hesitated. It should have been him, all him. It had been his fault, no one else's. He should take care of it, but that was what he'd tried to do before, be the hero. And he understood now, better than he ever imagined, that it would never work that way. He wasn't a hero.

But she was.

"It takes you, Faith," he answered softly.

It was weeks before Wes found a way to get her there. He didn't find it in a book; he looked, but they didn't seem to help him much anymore.

Instead it was an Asian man Faith had never seen before, with knife-blade cheekbones and panicked eyes. She'd returned from patrolling alone one night to find the man occupying her old spot in the closet, wrists chained, stripped to the waist, with delicate shiny patches on his chest that told her Wes hadn't forgotten the lesson she'd given him the first time she'd visited L.A.

It turned her stomach.

And yet, watching Princess Margaret get what he wanted out of the guy was … kinda hot.

He told Wes exactly what he wanted to know. How to get Faith into Quartoth.

How to get her and the baby out.

Faith could feel her heart thump unevenly—she could damn near hear it—but she ignored it. She kept her eyes on the fancy-ass steak knife with the long German name as she sliced off a piece of steak. Rare and bloody, just like she liked it. The way Wes liked it too, actually. Before, she would have thought it would be too earthy for his highness, but he wasn't that Wes anymore.

Good thing for both of them.

"Is it okay?" Wes asked, his voice slightly strained.

Faith stared at him. Was it okay he was sending her to Quartoth, because the place was so bad that he probably wouldn't survive? And that if she didn't make it, he'd be free to just go on as if it had never happened? Yeah, that was great. It was just—

Shit, who was she kidding? She'd agreed to it. He hadn't pressured her. He'd told her his plan and asked her, not ordered her like he used to when he was her Watcher. And he was right—she did have a better chance of getting the baby away from Holtz and getting out alive than Wes did. And she knew why he needed redemption. She knew how much it mattered.

She opened her mouth to reassure Wes, then noticed his gaze was directed at her plate. "Sure, it's fine," she shrugged. He'd poured wine and made a salad with weird greens, and got some expensive steaks. He was trying to make the meal nice. It was kind of pathetic, but hell, why not? Tonight was the night. They'd thrown together everything they needed, and in a couple hours she was leaving. This was the last supper.

"Faith…" Wes began tentatively. Faith looked at him. "I want to thank you. You're doing a wonderful thing. It will mean so much to Angel."

"I'm not doing it for Angel," she said tightly, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. She hadn't eaten much, but she was never really hungry before the big event. After, yeah. If she survived, she was gonna make Wes buy her everything on the menu at Fatburger. And then maybe later they could hit the East Coast and she could educate him about sliders. She'd bet her left arm he'd never touched one, and that was just … sad.

Yeah, a lot of things were sad.

Wes stared at the floor. He felt guilty that Faith was taking such a huge risk for this, but he needed it so badly. He'd go himself, the part of him that he been inculcated since childhood to clean up his own messes. Lectured, compelled to. But he knew it was foolish; there was no chance. As much as he'd learned, as hardened as he'd become, he knew he stood little chance of getting Connor out of that place.

But Faith was a champion.

He approached her. "Faith, are you—you don't have to do this—"

She smashed her plate down into the sink, breaking it, and he jumped. "Jesus Wes, shut up, just _shut up_," she snarled.

His heart sank. "Faith—"

Then her hands were on his face, her fingertips pressing hard into his cheeks as she kissed him, her teeth scraping against his lips. She dropped one hand to his shoulder, then to his waist, and it should have been awkward, it should have been Cordy in the library, Virginia after he realized he was falling for Fred, clumsywrongsad, but it was just her, there, immediate, hot, Faith, and then his hands were on her face just as hard as hers, just as needy, just as desperate.

A few stumbling steps and they were in the living room, falling to the couch, struggling to pull off clothes, then he was pressing inside her, both panting, straining, and finally shuddering against each other. It was over shockingly quickly.

It was a few minutes before he stirred. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he said wryly.

She chuckled. "Yeah, it was a little faster than I expected." Okay, a_ lot_, but it still got the job done. She had a feeling he'd get better with practice anyway.

His face was somber. "I mean I didn't plan to do this at all," he said, and Faith went still. "I didn't want to remember this later."

Faith froze. Didn't want to remember her, huh? God,_ asshole._ Just like all the rest of them.

"If you don't return, it would hurt me so much—to have had you and then lost you … it's cowardly, perhaps, not to risk it at all, but I never claimed I wasn't a coward…"

"That's it?" Faith blurted in surprise.

Wes looked at her blankly.

"Wes … that's it? God, I'm a Slayer! I'm not gonna be having any fat grandchildren around my deathbed. It's wham, bam, dead, ma'am. If I don't come back from Quartoth, let's just say I gave you the best night of your life."

Wesley smiled faintly. "And if you do come back?"

"When I come back, we hit the road. The hell with L.A.! Nothing keeping us here after I get back … right?"

Wes hesitated a moment. "Right."

They'd opened the portal shortly before midnight in the park by Wesley's apartment. One moment there was only the faint light of the street lamps filtering through the trees, and the next there was an angry blaze. Neither of them said anything. He felt cowardly for not speaking, but he didn't trust his voice. Then she nodded and ran into the fissure and it closed up behind her, leaving the park dim and silent.

There had been no reason to speak. They'd already said everything either of them had been capable of. They could talk when she was back. Until then, Wesley would wait.

At first he didn't notice the shadow that fell across his face—not until she spoke. "She's not coming back, Wes," said Lilah casually, tilting her head towards the horizon. Wesley's gaze didn't waver. "You took a shot. It went about as well as usual, but you should be used to it, right?"

"Go away," said Wes calmly, not raising his voice.

He didn't have to turn his head to see her smile; it was in her voice. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"You must have other things to do—justice to subvert, innocents to kill … perhaps a judicial appointment to undermine?"

Lilah smirked at his naïveté. Business was always rewarding—when she wasn't under consideration for permanent termination—but nothing could take the place of well-earned mockery. "Come on, Wes, what could be better than this? Watching the lapdog of my enemy lose his last chance at redemption? You couldn't pay me to miss this one. Warms me right in the cockles of my heart."

"Go away," he repeated stonily, too tired to be sound as bitter as he felt. It had been … he wasn't sure how long. The cooler he'd brought along was empty, his thermos drained, dry water bottles littered the grass beside him. Faith had carried a backpack with similar rations. She could get more, probably, if there was anything there humans could eat.

And if there wasn't, there wouldn't be anything for her to retrieve anyway. Nothing except bones.

"No reason for you to catch a chill, Wes. She's not coming back. She's probably not even in Quartoth. I mean, how would Gavin know where to find her? She's in Alternate Dimension X, and she's not coming back."

"He knew," Wes insisted.

"Then why didn't he get the baby back for Wolfram & Hart?" Lilah challenged.

"Because it's yourcase, Lilah. As long as Connor is missing, it's a black mark on your record."

Lila ground her teeth. "Fine. So that's two people in Quartoth because of you. But why stop at two? You've got to have five or six friends who'd let you ruin their lives … right? You _do_ have friends, right? Don't tell me Faith was it, because that's just sad. And now she's gone, too … because of you. Hey! Am I sensing a pattern here?" She took a moment to let that sink in, then added, "I was planning to make another tempting little offer about joining Wolfram & Hart, but the firm actually decided you're more valuable for us when you're trying to be the good guy. Same results, and no pesky conscience to worry about."

Wes forced himself to look at her. "Your life must be very empty, Lilah, for you to be so preoccupied with this. Have you ever thought of taking up knitting? I understand it's not just for the elderly anymore."

Her eyes sparked. "And how empty was yours, to get involved with me?"

Wes didn't answer. When he looked up again she was gone, and it was night again. For the fourth time? He wasn't sure. Time tended to crawl when Lilah was about. Assuming she'd ever really been there.

Maybe it had just been his unconscious, telling him what he already feared.

Faith wasn't coming back.

It was amazing, really, how long a person could survive on nothing but Scotch. Although in all honesty he had a vague recollection of finding something food-like in the kitchen and eating it. He was relatively sure it hadn't been nutritious, though.

And now he was out of Scotch. Perhaps he should go to the store. But that wasn't necessary, was it? He was fairly certainly the liquor store down on Cartwright deliv—

"Wes! Open up!"

Wes sat bolt upright, suddenly much more sober. He lunged across the room and jerked the door open and there she was, dirty, circles under the eyes, holding a squirming toddler. "Damn, Wes, I thought you said the kid was a baby!" she said, holding the unruly child out to him. Hell, half of the bruises she had were from him kicking her. It figured that his parents were vampires, what with him being so strong and everything.

"This is Connor?" he asked in astonishment, staring at the child. Sandy hair and blue eyes—nothing like Angel. There was something, though, about the shape of his jaw... "How can you be sure?"

Faith grimaced, flexing her shoulder. She deserved a long, hot bath and a nice massage, but she had the feeling she wasn't getting either one of them for awhile. A beer would be nice, though. "Uh, Quartoth isn't exactly swarming with humans," she said dryly. "It was him or the old guy, and he's no longer an option."

"Holtz…?"

"He didn't want to let the brat go. The kid kept calling him 'Father,'" she said brusquely.

"You—"

"Did you want the kid back or not?" she asked shortly "I did what I had to."

He took the child, and the child promptly cuffed him across the cheek, hard enough that Wes staggered. "He is strong, isn't he?" he marveled, beginning to laugh with delight. It was setting in, the realization that Faith had done it. Connor was back. She was safe, and Connor was back.

He was free.

Only Cordelia came close. The others stood back, respecting the moment between father and son. Angel growled softly to the little boy in his arms and Connor stopped struggling, soothed by the sound that had once been his lullaby.

The others had doubted Wes, but Angel's sensitive nose had immediately told him that the child was Connor. Wesley had backed off as soon as Angel had taken the boy. He wasn't using Connor as entree back into the group, no matter what the others thought. He'd done too poorly by Angel ever to keep company with him again.

And the others had done too poorly by Wesley for him to simply forget their treatment.

So this moment of joy was theirs; he'd find his happiness elsewhere.

He turned and looked at Faith, waiting in the doorway, and started towards her. Faith was glad he didn't wait to stay—she couldn't wait to get out of the place. All the nasty little undercurrents were making her skin itch, and not in the way she liked. "Wes, you're—"

Then _she_ moved close, and Wesley forgot Faith existed. "Wesley," murmured Fred, looking at him with undisguised admiration.

Faith muffled a growl. Little Miss Matchstick was giving Wes the big wet cow eyes, like he was her fucking hero. Now that the kid was back, everything was forgotten. Before that it had been _Wesley who?_ Bitch!

Faith watched as Wesley's face softened as he looked at the slight girl. She was so skinny, maybe she was a boy in disguise. Faith hadn't checked. You could give her latex gloves and a shot of penicillin and she wouldn't check.

"Wesley, this is just—it's incredible, I can't believe that you were able to—"

"What were you saying, Faith?" he asked, turning away from Fred.

Faith felt relief overwhelm her. She was too proud to let it show, but he knew. She could see it in his eyes. "This place is over," Faith said, jerking her head towards the door. "Let's go."

"Time to move on," he agreed, leaving Fred without another glance and moving to Faith's side. He took her hand and followed her outside, feeling absurdly carefree as he passed through the courtyard to what he once considered his home. It had been an illusion, nothing more. His future was with Faith. He'd discharged his debts, and could feel the past and its ties releasing their hold on him.

"Where to?" he asked Faith as they left the Hyperion behind them.

The smile she tossed to him was a challenge. "Surprise me."

**The End**


End file.
